I Wanted to Believe
by Ria
Summary: All Draco cared about was Harry. All he cared about was keeping him safe. He should have known better.


  
  
**I Wanted to Believe**   
**Author:** Ria (ria_ruby@yahoo.com)   
**Disclaimer:** Not mine. All J.K. Rowling's. I just like playing with them for my own twisted amusement. :) No profit being made. The lyrics are from "Suicide Note" by Johnette Napolitano. It's from the "Underworld" soundtrack, which I recommend as a whole. Very nice music to listen and write to.   
**Rating:** PG-13   
**Pairing:** Harry/Draco   
**Warnings:** Character death, angst, darkness – in other words, the usual. **  
Summary:** All Draco cared about was Harry. All he cared about was keeping him safe. He should have known better.   
**Notes:** I was listening to this song (No. 10 on the soundtrack) and the fic just came together. I think I did a pretty good job on Draco this time, and I hope you guys think so, too. Enjoy! 

**I Wanted To Believe**

_

Every night   
You wrote another line   
With a bloody, broken, bottle   
And every day   
You wish it away   
Why don't you pull the pin   
On that grenade   
You cuddle 

_

I wanted to believe   
Bodies swinging from trees   
Struggling to stand   
With your head in your hands   
A stoic last stand   
Of a dying man 

I wanted to believe   
As I watched your world   
Crumble in your hands   
I wanted to believe   
As you raised your glass   
To your last stand   
And I wanted to believe   
You would win   
The war in your head   
That I did not understand   
That I did not understand 

~*~

Draco cursed silently as he heard the door creak shut. Moments later, Harry Potter began to cry. 

He'd been crying for a long time, now, with the same pattern every time. Unnaturally quiet while eating, early to bed, shut the door, let the tears fall. Draco had come to hate the sound of the door creaking shut. 

Draco shut his eyes, his mouth tightening as Harry wept. If he kept true to the pattern, he'd cry himself to sleep. Draco always peered in later, gazing at him as he slept tightly curled in bed, his cheeks raw and pinched, the tears long dry. 

The morning after he cried, Harry raged at him all day. Draco suspected that knowing Harry cried was all that kept him from strangling him. 

Tonight was different, however; Harry's tears spilled for far longer than normal and sounded higher than usual. Draco could practically _hear_ the grief in his voice. 

He supposed Harry had considered Lupin a father figure. Or something. Perhaps he should have watched the relationship between the two more closely, but it honestly hadn't occurred to him. Draco had only listened to the werewolf when he'd absolutely had to, and had spent the rest of the time ignoring him because Harry was close to him. Nothing more. He had certainly never _respected_ him. 

But Harry had. And, somehow, this death meant more to him than the others had. 

And goddamn it, but he sounded so _heartbroken_. It was driving Draco insane! 

He only survived another few minutes of it, before his patience shattered. Draco shoved the blankets off him, got up and scrambled across the cold, battered floorboards to the door that connected their rooms. He slid it opened and walked swiftly over to the bed, staring silently down at its occupant. 

It was several minutes before Harry noticed him. He stared up at him through darkened moss-green eyes shining with tears yet to be spilled, and Draco, much to his disbelief and vague horror, started to bleed for Harry inside. 

Merlin, what had Harry done to him? 

But he had more pressing things to worry about now. 

They stared at each other as time crawled by, neither saying anything. The silence grew and deepened until they could hardly hear even their own breathing. 

Without saying anything, Harry moved over and allowed Draco to lift the blankets and slide in beside him. Draco held him without saying a word, his arms holding him with a possessiveness he would never admit to during the day. 

He held Harry and allowed him to cry until he could cry no more. 

*

If he looked at the wine through the light in a certain way, it appeared that he held blood in his hands. It was a pathetic, morbid irony that nevertheless amused the hell out of him. 

Draco personally thought this entire 'get-together' was a waste of time, but they probably needed a morale booster and who was he to deny them? 

Harry hadn't been getting any better since Lupin's death and Draco was starting to really worry about him. But he was reluctant to voice his fears; the others had plonked Harry on a pedestal months ago and refused to see it any other way. Harry was infallible; he was going to save them all; he was going to die for them, but who cared about that? No one except Draco, or so it seemed, damn them all to the bowels of Hell. He personally hoped they'd rot there, but he most likely wouldn't be so lucky in that hope. 

Can't they see what they're doing to him? Draco thought, staring at them all over the rim of his glass. Gazing at him with desperate hope in their eyes, silently pleading for him to conjure up a miracle and save them all. Life doesn't work that way, and it's a sad state of affairs when a Malfoy realises it before the rest of the so-called 'sensible' people. He drained his glass in a bitter gulp and looked around for the bottle. Might as well get pissed; highly unlikely anyone else would care, since they all had the same idea. 

Ha, if Voldemort could see them, now, he'd break his arse laughing. 

The rest of the night passed in a blissful haze of wine and increased drunkenness. Hell, Draco was all for it, so he really couldn't see why anyone should crib about it. He only snapped momentarily out of it when he realised Harry was standing, his glass raised in a toast. 

It took him another few seconds to realise Harry was toasting himself. 

Oh, Christ, if it weren't for Harry, he would definitely be kissing Voldemort's hems right now. This was beyond ridiculous… 

The rest of them smiled prettily up at Harry, the candlelight reflecting their shining eyes and the desperate hope filling the unshed tears. A desperate, foolish hope that would get Harry killed, but he was so used to it by now that he couldn't argue against it, no matter which way Draco phrased it. 

Draco seemed to be the only one who could see the anguished fear in Harry's eyes. 

Right at that moment, Draco found himself really wanting to cry. 

*

The day had been brutal and overcast, making everyone edgy and irritable. It was as if they could all sense something important was going to happen, some deciding factor that would plummet them to Heaven or Hell. Little did they know how right they were. 

Pity they didn't know the implications of that marvellous, all-important deciding factor. 

Pity they didn't think, really. Would have made everything so much easier, but then, that was the glory of hindsight, bitch that it is. 

The trembling seconds after sundown, Harry Potter flew from his chair, ashen, and ran for the door. Draco flew at his heels, not allowing himself to think, especially since he had no idea what was going on. 

The running based in a blue of darkness and panic, and when he'd later think about it, it all seemed damned impossible, but he decided to leave well enough alone and not try and decipher what had clearly happened under intense emotions. Better to leave well enough alone, since what came right after refused to leave his thoughts for a very long time 

Draco had no idea where they were – hell, he could hardly _see_ where they were – and so he rammed right into Harry when he skidded to a stop, nearly tumbling onto his behind. He staggered, gritting his teeth against making any sound, and instead stared at Harry's motionless back. He bit his lip, nipping it furiously so as not to say anything he'd later regret. 

He should have known better. 

After it became apparent that Harry had no intention of speaking, Draco slid up beside him and followed his gaze. Harry was pale, still as a statue and staring without blinking. His chest hardly moved. That should have been a warning, but Draco had never been good at heeding them. 

The moon peeked out from behind the clouds and illuminated chaos. 

No. No, it illuminated despair. Complete and utter despair. 

Something was swinging from one of the trees, swinging slowly back and forth like a rather large pendulum. Draco blinked, frowning. No, not something – _someone_. 

His mind then readily became unattached and distant from what he was seeing, a feeble attempt at protecting what little sanity he had left. He supposed it was the right thing to do, as he slowly registered who the frizzy brown hair belonged to, who had the wide blue eyes that stared blankly through him. 

_Oh, oh shit, no her,_ not her_, anyone but her for Harry's sake…_

But it was rather difficult to ignore that Hermione Granger hung from a tree in front of them. Just as it was difficult to ignore the fact that her neck was very, very broken. 

Bile rose in Draco's throat as his knees buckled. His head swam in coloured waves that slide in and out of themselves, a disgusting whirlpool of colours that he could practically see. He viciously fought the urge to vomit. He had never liked her, self-important know-it-all that she was, but Harry had depended on her being one of the stable pillars in his life, and she'd never deserved anything so damn _barbaric_… 

Well, this definitely put Lupin's death in context. 

Harry let out a wail that made the hairs on Draco's next stand up, and collapsed to the ground, still keening pathetically. 

Draco couldn't remember crawling to him, but he must have, because the next moment he was cradling Harry to his chest, rocking him back and forth even though it was all useless. Harry cried and wailed and whimpered in his arms, broken sounds that made Draco want to kill and rip and tear and _savage_. 

It took him a while to realise he was talking and even longer to understand the words coming out of his mouth. "I don't understand it, not at all. I don't understand why you can't let them shoulder some of your burden, why you let them depend on you to the point where they don't care that you're going to _die_ for them. I don't understand why you keep on doing this, why you still trust and care for them. 

"I don't care about them. I don't care about this war. All I care about is you, and keeping you safe, and loving you. I want to understand, I want to believe, but I can't. _I can't._" 

Draco couldn't remember if Harry ever answered his rather inane rambling. It didn't matter anyway. 

*

Ron Weasley was ready to kill him, but that was hardly anything new, so Draco was calm when the Weasel found him. 

"_So_," Weasley said, his hands jammed into his pockets and his mouth twisted in a bitter scowl. "_So._" 

Draco absently flexed his jaw from side to side and said in a bored tone, "Just get it over with. I haven't got time to spit insults with you." 

Weasley sputtered and Draco's lips tightened. He abruptly turned and made so as to stalk away, except Weasley's hand shot out and closed over his arm. Draco very slowly turned and stared at it; Weasley let it go after a moment. 

"Talk," Draco said. "Before the century's out, if you please." 

Weasley swallowed. Again. And again. Finally, he choked out, "Harry depends on you too much." 

Draco gritted his teeth, hot waves of rage clawing inside him. Merlin, that was it? All that hedging and accusing, _and all for that_? Not for the first time, Draco wondered exactly what made Harry trust Weasley. Especially considering how damned _interfering_ he was. 

"He may depend on me too much, Weasley," he said coldly, his face cool and arrogant, "but considering how the rest of you are treating him, I'm rather glad he does." 

Weasley flinched as the all-too-true barb hit home, but steeled his face and went in for round two. He had courage – foolish courage, but still courage – Draco had to give him that. But he was still a fool, and Malfoys never suffered fools. 

"If you know, then you should be trying to convince him to, well, stop depending on you so much." The Weasel's cheeks flushed as he realised how inadequate his words were, but he continued determinedly on. 

Draco glared at him. "I damn well will not! If depending on me is what makes him feel safe, then I'm going to let him! It's not as if you're helping him. All you do is assume that he'll just go on and save you all one day, and too bad if he _dies_ doing it." Draco knew he was saying too much, but he didn't particularly care. All the rage, the fury he'd been holding in for too long was spilling out now, and the only thing he regretted was that it was Weasley he was saying it all to. He'd have relished the chance to snarl at Dumbledore, the old coot. 

Weasley had turned white. "But – but," he stammered. "That's what Harry's _supposed_ to do, he knows that, he's never said anything…" He faltered, and Draco could practically see the wheels clanking in his head as ideas never considered before suddenly made themselves known. 

Draco stared at him, and wondered how he could have the _nerve_ to call himself Harry's best friend. Had the aching fear even blinded him to the truth? 

Then Draco suddenly sighed, his shoulders slumping as all the fight drained out of him. This wasn't fair for any of them, especially not for Harry. Weasley's eyes were red-rimmed, the likely consequence of going in to talk to Harry, who'd barricaded himself in his room after returning with Granger's body. Draco knew they were all taking the loss badly, but apart from Harry, he couldn't really give a damn about any of them. 

"Weasley, fuck off," he muttered tiredly. "I can't deal with your shit right now." 

Weasley turned and fled. 

*

"It's time." 

Those two words echoed around and around Draco's mind until a headache throbbed behind his eyes. He winced and squeezed them shut, but the pain merely increased. 

He couldn't forget how… defeated Harry had looked when he's come up and said that to him, how hollow his voice had been as he struggled to speak. Dark circles smudged under his red-rimmed eyes and the moonlight managed to soften his raw cheeks, but it couldn't take away how dreadful he looked. 

Moonlight couldn't change how desperate Harry had kissed him, as if kissing him for the last time. 

It seemed dangerously like an omen for the future. 

Draco didn't dwell on _that_ kiss for very long. 

Harry hadn't told him that he loved him. Draco told himself it was because he'd be back again and would have plenty of time to say it, but deep down he knew it was because that sounded too much like good. Harry hated goodbyes, almost as much as he hated crying. He couldn't stop the crying, but he could just refuse to say goodbye. 

It didn't really make Draco feel any better, but there you go. 

Overhead, a bird – was it a raven? – circled, cawing what seemed eerily like a death cry. Black birds were a death omen, weren't they, or was it ravens specifically? He couldn't remember and he wasn't stressing himself to. 

Harry would be back. Of course he would. 

Never mind that it seemed likely he'd end up dying anyway, regardless of whether he killed Voldemort or not. All they could do was hope Harry would take him done, and not the other way round. 

What had enraged him was that Weasley had a better idea of where Harry was right now, rather than him. It had been Draco who'd protected him these past few months, who'd kept him safe, not Weasley. It should be him in that position right now, not Weasley. 

Harry probably hadn't trusted him. Draco couldn't say he blamed him, really. 

He didn't remember slipping into a doze, but he did. The next thing he knew, he was jolted awake by screams. Desperate, grieving screams. 

No. 

Draco blinked and forced his eyes to stay open, banishing the pleading wishes for sleep for another time, when sleep would be more deserved. In other words, definitely not now. He struggled to his feet, just as Weasley approached him hesitantly. 

His eyes were bloodshot. He was weeping silently, but still managed to look Draco in the eye. For once, there was no jealousy or scorn in them, merely pity and an infinite sadness. 

Draco mind still insisted, _No_, but there was no denying it now. 

No. 

No. 

_NO!_

Draco collapsed back onto the ground, his mind beginning to slide into a numb haze. No… no… He'd thought he'd prepared himself for this, but now he realised he hadn't even started to. 

It was over even before it had really begun. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, Draco Malfoy allowed himself to cry. 

But Harry wasn't there to hold him. 

~*~

_

Every night   
The questions poured out   
Of your wounded eyes   
Damn dark things   
Every day   
You used to pray   
Listen to the black raven sing   
You wanted to believe   
As you were falling to your knees   
Struggling to stand   
With your life in your hand   
The sad last stand   
Of a broken man 

_

I wanted to believe   
As I watched your world   
Crumble in your hands   
I wanted to believe   
As you raised your glass   
To your last stand   
And I wanted to believe   
You would win   
The war in your head   
That I did not understand   
That I did not understand


End file.
